


And everything burned in blue, everything a star

by Kujaku



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2018-12-21 08:38:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11940417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kujaku/pseuds/Kujaku
Summary: Jehan, of the sparkling eyes and with dreams on his lips. Jehan was caught by a faery king, doomed to be forever a prisonner. Unless the icy knight with the frozen eyes claims him first and forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Patron-Minette and Jehanparnasse-centric faery AU dreamt up with my partner in love and crime wilwywaylan.tumblr.com. Will have background Enjoltaire and Courferre, and a few more of our faves, and I will apologise for absolutely nothing. Please enjoy? :D

_Red and purple and blue and grey. Metal groans on stone. A laugh echoes in the space between the silences. The children are warned since forever. Not to approach the Gentry. Not to get lost in the forests or in the marshes. Not to get too close to the lakes and rivers. Just in case. It can be cold in Faerie. Even those without eyes swear that the ice sometimes hangs in the air like frozen mist._

_But this isn't what mortals think of when they imagine the Other Realm; their thoughts stray towards the green hills and fluttering banners of the Summer Court. Their thoughts are those of warmth and laughter, the Court where the fae dance around flowers of fire and light, the Court of soft voices, of tinkling crystal laughter, of all things beauty. Mortal minds do not stray often to the other._

_Mortal minds, except those of poets and old souls, do not linger near the other Court, the Court of Ice. The Winter Court, sister to the Summer, it's reflection in a magic mirror. Just as beautiful and just as deadly. Here, the moon dribbles silver light over the icy lakes and rivers, winds blow through silent forests and the fae hold their revelry beside fires of frozen flame. The rare souls who are spirited away to the Courts never return. Or at least, if they do, they are changed._

_Tales are told of those who found their way back after seven years, or seven times seven. Some return to the mortal world after a century, among people and places they no longer recognise. Tales are told of them, but nothing is said about what happens after they come back home._

_Here is perhaps one of those unsung tales._

*

The child should have listened, should have paid more attention, should have obeyed, should have _believed_. But some children were like that, some were doomed from the very start. The child's scent spread like wildfire through the Seelie realms, both Courts alert and hungry – no, _ravenous_ – for human flesh, but as the child entered the lands of the Winter King, by right the child belonged to Winter.

Was there fear in her heart as she walked through the snow-filled forest? Did she understand where she was, what the tiny flashes of light flickering through the trees meant? No-one would know. She fell foul of a shadow, deeper and darker than the others, and her shrill scream disappeared after a few tiny seconds, replaced by crunching bone.

And silence fell again.

*

The two figures walked in silence towards the forest, their footsteps perfectly in rhythm, their breath foggy in the air. No need for words, not when they had been close for this long; a simple tremor in the air was enough. The first figure's gaze slid into a part of the dark wood, his bone-white mask not quite concealing the lidless all-black eyes underneath.

A simple gesture, a tiny nod, and his companion stepped forward, eyes as inhumanly blue as the magic hoarfrost on his fingers.

\- Babet. It's time.

The scraping of bone on bone stopped and a lithe figure stepped out of the woods and into the moonlight, alabaster-white teeth jutting from his bloody mouth, too many and too needle-like to be anything but inhuman.

With a fluid gesture, he picked a bone shard from his mouth and flicked it away, before coming forward.

\- You've said that for years, Montparnasse.

\- And I'll say it again. But for now, we must go. The Court has been summoned, the King would feast in the Hall of Mirrors.

\- Am I welcome there?

\- Have you caused offence?

\- Have I?

The bandying of words could last an age, as it was the way among the Kin. To give a straight answer when not under duress was admitting defeat, and there was not one of the Gentry that liked admitting defeat. And while the verbal joust continued, the masked fae rolled his eyes fondly before tilting his head.

\- I am not the last to like listening to wordplay, but we've been summoned. And it would be unpleasant to be noticed more than we need to be. Wouldn't it.

\- He notices me no more than necessary, Claquesous.

\- And no _less_ than necessary. We should go.

*

The Hall of Mirrors was the gem of the Winter King's realm. Spires of pure silver reaching up into the purple and orange dusk, the clouds caressing the highest towers where the King's crest floated in the wind. The great hall itself was named for the hundred mirrors that covered the walls, sending reflections far and wide, all over the black and white tiles that sparkled when the Gentry danced on them. And it was into this revelry that the three came, in silence and with their heads held high. The dancers paused enough to let them pass, before once again letting the music take them into its rhythm.

At the end of a food-filled table, knife perched in his long grey claws, the fourth of their small group saw them arrive and gave a tiny sigh of relief, before moving towards them.

\- It's good you're here. The King has not yet arrived and tardiness isn't his favourite vice. As you should know by now, Babet.

\- 'Mer, I appreciate your concern, strange as it is.

\- I'm thinking of my own neck as well. We're bound too tightly together to not be punished as one.

\- Yes, I thought I heard something that wasn't complete and utter selflessness...

Montparnasse let them speak, eyes already roaming the great hall in search of something that would distance him from the arrival of his king. Wordplay was his favourite distraction – wordplay and hunting mortals – but this time he was content to just listen.

And Gueulemer had spoken one important truth: the four of them were considered one single entity. And insult to one was considered injury to all. Many of the darker side of the Faery Kingdom had been witness to that. Ice, shadow and raging water were never so deadly than in those friends united. And even if Babet hailed from the Summer Court, an ambassador from the Summer Queen, his smouldering fire had joined the others far too easily.

The dancing suddenly stopped as a horn sounded, and the fae retreated and bowed as the Winter King entered.

Tall, pale and terrible, crowned with stars and glimmering light, rubies in his eyes and white gems on his fingers. One hand curled around the pommel of his carved wooded staff, the other holding onto a woven silver chain. The assembled Kin were curious to see what would be on the other end of that chain, what new toy their sovereign had found, and as they craned their delicate, fine-boned necks to see better, all they saw was a flash of dark red before the figure was pushed to the ground in front of the throne.

The Kin were curious, but once they'd seen the new plaything, they lost interest. It was only a mortal, only one among hundreds. He would last perhaps a year, before being thrown into the Between, left alone to make his way back to his world if he could. If he survived. The King clapped his hands and the music began again, the lords and ladies took hands and danced again. The feast and the party were finally truely beginning.

But of all them, Montparnasse didn't move. His icy eyes were fixed on the silent shape in the too-big tunic, wilting flowers in the russet curls.

And something inside the ice-fae cracked and began to thaw.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so a little explanation : I was purposely vague with the descriptions of Patron-Minette because I just want people who read to be able to use their headcanons (with the fae details on top, of course :) )
> 
> Also : I have basically no idea where I'm going (as ever) as my only concept of fae comes from a mash-up of Irish and Scottish fairytales, urban fantasy and my usual desire to make things dark. Enjoy nonetheless, and thanks!

The dancers twirled and circled each-other in a symphony of light and grace, each step lighter than the other, each smile perfectly crafted. Glamour was never more used than in these moments, none of the Gentry wishing to be seen less than perfect.

And they were all gorgeous. That had been his downfall.

 

The auburn curls shifted slightly as the young mortal followed the dancing. He shouldn't have found them so enchanting, so beautiful, especially now, especially after what had happened. Especially with a chain around his neck and worse. But try as he could, he couldn't tear his eyes away. Hair of raven-black, midnight blue or starlight silver. Eyes from deepest ebony to lightest snow or amethyst-purple. How could he resist?

How could he have resisted?

He remembered it like yesterday – it might even have been, he didn't know how time worked in the Faerie realm – and it was so bitter-sweet. He remembered the face, the beautiful voice, the hands so soft and inviting. He had even seen the pointed teeth and the too-charming laugh and he had understood. But his love for beauty and mystery had ensnared him.

It had only been a kiss, brief as lightning, light as a petal, but it had cost him dear. He had tasted something sweet – a hint of honey – and he had known he was lost.

And all the bitter tears would change nothing.

 

A chill ran up his spine and he turned suddenly to the side, seeking the source of the discomfort. In front of him were the same fae he'd seen since he'd been caught. Except no. There, he finally noticed them.

There was a group of fae right to the side of the great hall, still as statues against the revelry, and he wondered how he couldn't have seen them before. One was lithe as a young willow, eyes smouldering dark red and suspicious red stains on his fingers and around his mouth (when he smiled, the needle-teeth glinted like diamonds) Next to him stood a tall fae with hair the colour of a raging sea, long claw-like nails matching, holding a crystal glass to another of his companions. This one had his face hidden by a bone mask, the eye-holes shining with eldritch half-light.

They were as beautiful and as unsettling as the others, just as cruel and cold, but they weren't the ones who were the source of the unease. No, it was the last of the group, the fourth one, the one staring right at him with eyes the colour of sapphires. Those eyes were burning, boring into his very soul... Those eyes were –

 

But he had no more time to finish his thought, as the chain around his neck was pulled tight and the Winter King smiled. Cold, uncaring. So beautiful, as he wound his bejewelled fingers in those long red locks.

\- Does one of them catch your interest, my doll?

\- No.

It was instant, absolutely no hesitation whatsoever. And he didn't even know why, it wasn't even a half-truth. He knew what the King did to any of the Gentry who displeased him for the slightest reason, and he had no love for any of them, not any more, not after all they'd done. But those blue eyes had caught his interest, oh so highly.

If only because he had seen Death in them.

 

*

 

From where he was standing, Claquesous could see everything in the room, and especially the dais and the King. And the human he was keeping as a pet. It was a new one, it wouldn't last any longer than the others, it would be discarded empty and lost, like all those that had come before it. He shouldn't have felt anything. But he did. Because he had seen Montparnasse watching the throne and the King and the pet. Especially the pet.

He sidled up closer to his friend and lowered his voice.

\- What are you doing? He might see you.

\- Everyone is watching him. You know how much he loves an audience.

\- I wasn't talking about the King, 'Parnasse.

 

The Fair Folk couldn't lie. They could twist their words and make omissions and mislead, but they couldn't lie. Not physically. And that wasn't always an advantage if someone really knew them. Claquesous simply put his hand on his friend's shoulder – one of the few to be allowed to touch him – and lowered his voice even more.

\- You're looking at him. The mortal. Aren't you. Yes or no.

\- Yes. He's interesting.

\- And off-limits. Do you hear me? I know the King holds you in some sort of regard, but don't try anything stupid. Please.

Montparnasse raised an eyebrow, his eyes flashing.

\- Like?

\- Like trying to seduce him. I know your tastes. I think that sometimes I know you better than you know yourself. So please, don't do anything stupid.

\- Or I might get noticed?

\- Or you might get noticed and everything we've planned will be for nothing. So eat. Drink. Go fuck something, but please stop looking at him.

 

*

 

The feast was every bit as impressive and lavish as the Winter King loved to give. But it was only ever for his pleasure and his enjoyment; he gave little thought to the bowing of his subjects. They wouldn't dare even voice their opinion on the matter, it would condemn them to a fate of his own devising. There were areas in the Between that were deadly traps for the Kin, but if their King ordered them there, they had no choice.

And there was one particular Fae he would enjoy seeing walk those dangerous paths, but he was still useful. But maybe not for too long now, it was only a matter of time.

With a smile, he pointed at the ice-fae standing at the end of the hall and beckoned him closely; watching every move with very pointed interest.

\- Montparnasse. Here.

\- As you wish.

Nothing in the words nor in the voice said anything except total honesty and loyalty, so why did this feel so wrong? He would discover it.

\- Tell me about the alliances.

\- Would you not prefer to enjoy the dancing and leave such matters to later?

 

The blow fell like a thunderbolt, and Montparnasse found himself looking at the floor, his lips seeping blood on the perfect silver flagstones of the dais. He didn't move, not a muscle, until the words of his sovereign fell onto his ears.

\- Get up. And never question me again, or a split lip will be the least of your worries.

\- Yes, my King. Forgive me.

\- Maybe. Now answer my question. The alliances.

\- Yes, my King. The humans and the vampire court are still on fragile ground, but the truce stands. The werewolves will soon declare their desire to side with them or with us, but I do not believe that we should ignore the threat.

Speaking was painful. He could feel the blood dripping onto his collar as he gave his report. He might have been – as Claquesous had said – in the King's good graces, but that didn't stop the humiliation. Because this _was_ humiliation. And the King knew it and was making it last as long as possible. And when Montparnasse stopped speaking, he wasn't allowed to slink back into the shadows, as the King turned back to the revelry without giving him his leave.

Just to prove that he was King, and that the ice-fae was a simple lackey, just like anyone else.

 

And Montparnasse caught the eyes of his little group, all of them looking at him with veiled sympathy; the promise he'd made burned harder every single instant : he would destroy the Winter King and take his place.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (it was my birthday yesterday, so I managed to write a bit. Enjoy! :D)

\- Relax, sit down, let me see.

\- Leave me alone.

\- Montparnasse, I need to see the damage. Even if you think it's nothing.

Montparnasse hesitated and finally stopped pacing around his rooms, coming to sit on one of the ornate couches. He would have scowled but the pain was enough to stop him from doing anything else but wait. Even speaking was painful, he could still feel the sting of the King's rings slamming into his mouth.

Softly, Babet took a vial from his pocket and began to clean the wound, wiping away the seeping blood and soothing the angry red skin. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, they didn't always need to speak to communicate, but it was tense. The only sounds for a while were Babet's hushed tuttering and Gueulemer idly knocking against an ice vase with his claws, all while keeping an eye on the corridor that led to his friend's rooms.

One could never be too careful. Or paranoid.

And when finally Babet had finished his work, Claquesous appeared with glasses of berry-wine, holding them out to his companions.

\- Drink. We have to lay low for a while, the shadows are angry.

\- They're always angry. 

\- Perhaps, but this is safer. Everyone will be expecting Montparnasse to be licking real and imaginary wounds after what happened, especially the King.

Montparnasse gave a shrug and drank deeply, ignoring the screaming from his wounded mouth. It would take weeks to heal properly...

\- What does it look like I'm doing?

\- Sulking.

\- Shut up.

The tension disappeared bit by bit as his friends came to sit by him. And straight to the point, as ever, Gueulemer jerked his head towards the door, and towards the palace in general.

\- He's scared of you.

\- He should be.

\- Don't say that, it makes you reckless.

\- “Reckless”?

Montparnasse looked at them, at his bosom friends and co-conspirators, and quite nearly hissed.

\- “Reckless” you say? After everything we've planned and everything we've chosen to risk, you call me _reckless_ ? How am I the only reckless one here, Gueulemer?

\- I am not the one eyeing the King's pet. In front of the King himself. You couldn't _be_ more reckless! Please do not give him another excuse to kill you!

\- He can't kill me!

As soon as those words passed his lips, he tensed up. The Fae couldn't lie, not even to themselves, and it was for a reason. It left marks that both physically and psychically wounded. And he had lied, because the Winter King could and would kill him as easily as squashing a fly. A small croak formed in his throat and blood began to drip down his mouth once again, bitter as the thoughts in his mind.

\- _Fuck this_!

\- 'Parnasse...stay calm...

\- _I AM CALM!!_

 

Ice began to form in the centre of the room, creeping towards the walls and up to the ceiling. The windows giving onto the silver wonderland in front of the palace began to freeze up and the temperature dropped wildly. Babet snapped his fingers and a circle of embers surrounded the small group; if they froze, they were hardly going to be discreet.

And as suddenly as it had appeared, the ice vanished leaving only a slight damp in the room. Montparnasse had once again his calm mask, sapphire eyes shining softly and the blood from his mutilated mouth wiped almost carelessly on his shirt.

\- I didn't mean to shout at you.

\- We know. These are trying times.

\- But they'll soon be over.

\- One way or another.

The answers came from the three of them, almost like clockwork. They'd already had this conversation in so many forms and so many times before. And their immediate reaction was to change the subject, Claquesous filling up their glasses once more. As if nothing had happened.

It was safer that way.

\- What about the alliances?

\- He doesn't care. He thinks he's invincible. Either that or he's a fucking idiot. We can't fight on three fronts, no matter what he says. Babet, what word from the Summer Court?

 

Babet tapped his crystalline teeth, deep in thought.

\- The Queen and her Consort will side with their best interests. The humans are already against us, the vampires have always been against us, and soon the werewolves will decide. And I don't need to guess who they'll side with. With the way things are going, who would wish for the Winter King to be their ally?

\- No-one. But we need them. We need the werewolves to balance the power between our worlds.

\- The humans aren't exactly a force to be reckoned with.

Montparnasse gave a wry smile.

\- Don't underestimate their magicians, they can be dangerous. The human realm would be long gone otherwise.

\- Right, so what do we do now?

Claquesous looked at Babet, then back at Montparnasse, and his eyes smouldered under his bone-white mask.

\- I know exactly what he wants to do.

\- Of course you do.

\- And it's fucking dangerous.

\- What else is new? But what choice do we have? I want to _survive_ , 'Sous. I want to survive and I believe that unless we do it ourselves, we can just lay down and wait for the end. We need to make our own alliances, prepare for anything. Will you follow me? All of you?

 

*

 

Of course they would follow him. They weren't going to stop now, and everything was speeding up, the stars were aligning. They would go their own ways, seemingly unconnected, as if shaken by the violent lesson given to Montparnasse and willing to keep their distances. If they disappeared for a while, no-one would find it strange.

Babet left for the Summer Court, his position as ambassador giving him leave to do so. No-one knew what his return would hail for him – he had left so long ago – but it was something he had to do. Someone had to speak to the Queen.

Gueulemer and Claquesous melted away one night, crossing over to the mortal world. It wasn't unheard of, the Gentry were often among the humans, tricking them for their own amusement and devouring them without a second thought.

And as for Montparnasse, he only left his rooms on the King's bidding. He held his head high in spite of his mutilated mouth and wounded ego, daring all and any of the assembled Fae to challenge him even at that moment. And the beginning of the final piece of the grand plan was finally slotting into place. He only needed one last thing : he needed to get close to the King's beautiful human pet.


	4. Chapter 4

The journey to the human realm was like a blink of an eye. The moon was high, and both Fae sat on a rooftop and looked out over the city they'd come to. It wasn't by chance, they hadn't simply slipped into the first place they saw. They had things to do, people to see and messages to transmit and all before Montparnasse sent word.

Claquesous let the shadows engulf the both of them as they looked at the neon lights and the bustling life.

\- They're always so very busy... Running everywhere and for what? They're going to die anyway.

\- Maybe that's why they do it. To forget that they're going to die.

\- Unusually deep thoughts, 'Mer.

\- Don't worry, it won't last. Who should we look for?

Claquesous gave a small smile and nodded towards the top of a nearby building.

\- I think that part is already taken care of.

Against the neon sign of the high-end shopping-centre, another shadow moved slowly towards the two Fae, a threat screaming silently in each and every one of his movements. Neither moved, both pairs of eyes fixed on it. Gueulemer's claws were glistening and ready, and Claquesous held his conjured shadow-sword at the ready. It wasn't official, no alliance had been spoken yet, but why court risk?

And when the hulking shadow came to their level, Claquesous cautiously raised his hand.

\- We mean no harm.

\- Little faeries in the human world rarely mean anything else. Leave, this is my territory.

\- Leave the pissing contest where it belongs, we aren't your enemies. And we have no intention of staying longer than necessary. We came to talk.

\- Really?

\- I can't lie, puppy...

 

The lycanthrope growled; had he been wolf at that moment, the fur on his hackles would have risen and his fangs would have glistened.

\- Shut that mouth of yours, or I'll do it myself, pretty boy. We all know why two high-ranking pixies just happened to drop here while the situation is tense. You want to talk? I'm not listening, and I'm waiting for a reason to not rip your fucking throats out right now. Give me a reason. No answer? Fine.

A wave of his hand, and several other shadows appeared behind him and on either side; the lycanthropes were surrounding them, and they certainly didn't seem friendly. Gueulemer let his hands fall back to his side and moved closer to Claquesous, urging him with a look to banish his weapon. Which the shadow-fae did, but not without a hiss.

\- We're not playing a game here.

\- Neither are we. Follow us, and it's not a request.

 

The walk to the lycanthrope's main lair took them through gaudily-lit streets filled with cheap restaurants, suspicious bars and loud voices,, until they arrived to a part of the city that was spacious and bordered with trees. The lights of the city were far away, faded behind the screen of trees, and the werewolf pack led the two Fae to the centre of a lush park. Not a word was said, and the threat was so palpable it could have been cut with a knife. Claquesous and Gueulemer stayed on guard, back to back, as if they expected to be attacked at any moment. And given the situation, it was perfectly plausible.

The lycanthropes growled and snapped their teeth, but none advanced as the big wolf held a hand up again and grinned.

\- So, the pixies feeling nervous yet? What do you say, pretty boy?

\- Call me that again and I'll make sure you drown on your blood.

\- Oooh, looks like we've got an angry Tinkerbell ~

Another – larger – shadow came into view and an older man walked into the ring of the werewolves.

\- Bahorel, calm down. And the rest of you, go. I'll take care of this.

\- But – !

\- They don't look like they mean harm right now, don't you agree? And if they do, I'm certain I'll be able to handle two of the Gentry. Go home, you've been on patrol all night, get some rest.

\- If you say so...

With a last look at the Fae, Bahorel grunted his agreement and slowly walked back into the darkness, heading for the buildings and the city lights. The rest of the lycanthropes followed suit and disappeared. Which left the lone lycanthrope with the fae. He kept his eyes on them both Gentle Folk, the large one with the sabre-like claws, and the one hidden behind his mask, and held out his hand.

\- My name is Valjean. Welcome to Paris. Come, I can offer you food and drink if you want it.

Claquesous gave a smile which could have chilled an ocean, and didn't move from where he was standing right next to Gueulemer.

\- And the price?

\- There is no price. I'm simply trying to be decent. We aren't enemies, Claquesous.

\- How do you know my name?

\- I'm the leader of the Paris clan. When two of the Winter Court's most infamous arrive, I have to know who they are. Please, Claquesous, Gueulemer, follow me.

 

Both Fae hesitated. Humans could lie and they never forgot that. Under his guise of a friendly father, Valjean was a pack leader. A look from him and lycanthropes would tear them from limb to limb. Gueulemer gently prodded his friend with a finger and cocked his head.

\- 'Sous? What do you think? It could be a trap.

\- I know. But we have a mission. We have to speak to them. If all this is going to work, we have to risk this.

\- And if it's a trap? If we get ourselves killed in there? How do you think the others will take it?

\- Badly, what a stupid question. Come on. Oh, and 'Mer? Keep those claws sharp...

 

*

 

The pack leader's home was probably the most comfortable thing anyone could have imagined. Neither had an idea of what a pack leader's home should have looked like, but it probably hadn't included knitted jumpers on the back of a chair, a few well-read books on the low table, or a sofa that looked like it was fifty years old. On which was sat another man, his eyes very bright in his dark face. The sword he held on his knees was also very bright, and he didn't let his gaze waver from the Fae.

So this was how it was to be. They were used to threats, and it didn't really change the situation. Once the door was closed, Valjean simply turned his back on them, and disappeared into the kitchen; a gesture towards his companion, and the man unclenched his hands from around the sword-hilt, but didn't say a word. And Gueulemer wouldn't speak anyway, he wasn't much of a talker. And Claquesous, even being the paranoid Faerie Knight that he was, Claquesous was going to find it complicated to stay silent. So in the end, he sat down next to the human on the sofa, as if he was totally at home.

\- And who are you? The puppy's master?

 

He narrowly missed the sword-hilt coming his way, nearly hitting Valjean coming out of the kitchen, and snarled. Valjean only sighed and put the coffee-cups on a low table, putting himself between both of them.

\- Please, I'd prefer it if no-one killed anyone in my home. Now drink your coffee before it gets cold, and tell us exactly what you want here.

\- Who said we wanted anything?

\- No wordplay here. I would appreciate straight answers.

\- I'm sure you would, but why would I give any to you?

\- Claquesous, you're here because of the impending alliances. The humans, the vampires, the lycans will soon be united. The faerie realm will be alone and will have to adjust. That's why you're here, because you want to stop the alliance. Isn't it?

\- If the Winter King dies and a less incompetent fool takes his place, there will be no need for alliances because there will be no more fighting. We wish to survive, and our King will kill us all.

\- Unless he is replaced.

\- We will replace him, or we will die trying. The Winter Court is no longer united.

 

That caught Valjean's attention, and the look he gave his companion was full of unspoken answers; in return, the man gave a nod and went for the door without even so much as a word. Gueulemer rose to stop him, but Claquesous shook his head and looked back at the lycnathrope.

\- Going to tell all your contacts about what you've learned, I see.

\- We already had suspicions, but you've confirmed them. And fear not, like I said, we are not your enemies. Not yet. Javert will not speak of you. But we need to know, how important is the rift in the Winter Court? Can you tell us this in good faith? How many are you?

Gueulemer made a noise that could have been a snort or a sigh, and Claquesous gave another of his too-wide grins.

\- Four.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as Babet reached the Summer Court, he felt something inside of him uncoil. It was a feeling of physically belonging instead of choosing, and he needed to be gone as soon as he could. But first, he had a job to do.

If he got out of this alive, of course. Because Knights were already walking towards him, and by their stance they weren't certain of his intentions. He didn't recognise them, but then he'd been away from the Court for very long, even by Fae memory, so it wasn't surprising. He raised a hand in greeting and smiled.

\- I am Babet, Ambassador to the Winter Realm. I have urgent need to speak to our Queen.

\- You have been gone for a long time. Come, warm yourself in the sun's rays, you must have been cold.

\- Thank you.

They led him into the heart of Summer, and instantly Babet found himself in front of the great castle. It was on a great hill, surrounded by lush meadows and forests sparkling with fireflies and brightly-coloured butterflies. It was so like the Hall of Mirrors of the Winter King, and yet so different. Here, he wasn't afraid for his life and walking towards the palace, he could feel the pull of the place.

The warmth, the welcoming music on the air, the taste of flowers on his tongue and the smell of sugar.... He was _home_. And he hated it.

 

The gates of the Golden Hall were swung open and Babet entered at last; nothing had changed. Absolutely nothing at all. He could recognise the same faces, all standing at more or less the same places where he'd seen them last. And if their eyes on him weren't openly hostile, he could see that they were at best mildly curious. The long-lost ambassador come back to the fold, the touch of Winter all too visible on his face and heart. She would see it, he knew. The Summer Queen wasn't only beautiful and wise, she could see into the very souls of her people. And it made it quite frankly nervous, but he had little choice.

And there, on a throne of living wood, the Queen was waiting.

 

She was gorgeous. She was ethereal. She was terrifying. She had the light of spring in her hair and the warmth of summer in her eyes and on her lips. And when she spoke, it was being covered in the rays of an eternal sun.

\- Babet, welcome home. It has been long.

The ambassador bowed low and smiled, crystalline teeth glittering in the light.

\- My Queen, it has been long indeed.

\- We feared you lost to Winter, or worse.

The undertone was more than obvious, the strain between Summer and Winter was widening and both sovereigns were looking to their numbers. And the Queen was asking him about his intentions, about where his loyalty lay. This was going to be harder than even he had feared.

\- My Queen, I must speak with you in all urgency. And in private, if you would allow it.

The silence in the Golden Hall was deafening, eyes all fixed upon the throne; the Queen hadn't moved or spoken in a moment, as if she were weighing his words on a golden scale. Until finally she rose, her shimmering gossamer gown swaying in the scented breeze, and extended her hand towards the still-kneeling Fae.

\- Come. Walk with me, Babet.

 

*

 

The private gardens of the Summer Queen were pure beauty. Small moss-covered seats lingered under willow-branches, and there was nothing except the sound of birdsong and babbling rivers. Babet had been privileged enough to walk here before, but this time he was sombre. What would he be able to do if his true sovereign chose to ignore him? It was her right, and she had no reasons to listen to him.

As he followed respectfully behind her, a rustle in the tall grasses came to his ears. A truly happy smile graced the Queen's face as she hurried to meet the newcomer, embracing him in her slender arms.

\- My love...

\- My Euphrasie...

Babet would have to pretend to never have heard that. The Queen's true name was like any Fae's name, a secret held from everyone except their chosen soul-mate. Any of the Gentry would be in their rights to kill anyone who discovered their secret name, but this was the Queen's Consort – an already special position – and he was not of this realm.

All the Court knew the Consort's name, he had made no secret of it when he had first arrived, and everyone knew that he had once been a human called Marius, and that the Queen loved him as fiercely as a summer storm.

So Babet did the only thing etiquette demanded and knelt on the soft grass.

\- Your Majesties.

Marius turned his gaze to him, his dusty-red hair falling over one of his large, unsettling, grey eyes.

\- Babet returns to us. Times must be more dire than I had thought. Has the war truly begun?

\- This is the reason I must speak with you. There have been developments.

\- The werewolves are rallying to ally themselves with us, the vampires are still neutral but will have to decide, and whether they choose to be with us or with the Winter, nothing will change. Soon the Winter Court will live by itself or be destroyed. There is no peace to be had with the King.

The words were spoken in the almost dreamlike tone the once-mortal Consort was known for, but his passion and his strength shone underneath. Babet already imagined his message falling into deaf ears, but the Queen laid her hand on her lover's arm.

\- We are in agreement, but if our Ambassador has news, perhaps we should listen to him. Of what developments do you speak, Babet? And let your words be to the point, no wordplay here.

\- The Winter Court is not united.

\- It has never been. The Winter Fae are known for their bickering.

\- My Queen, this is more than a simple spat. I humbly ask that you postpone the treaty with the werewolves.

\- Do you now? Why?

\- Because the King is doomed. His fate has been written by one more determined than him. This will not be a succession, his crown will be taken by force. And the future King will not be as foolish as the old one.

 

The Queen sat on one of the mossy seats, her Consort next to her as always, and her gaze slipped into nothing. This was surprising, this was not something she had imagined could happen quite so soon. And words came out guardedly, for who could foresee anything now.

\- This future king inspires loyalty in many?

\- He has not yet declared his intentions except to a loyal few.

\- You are his follower, are you not? That is the reason for which you have not returned to me for such a long time.

Was there threat in her voice? He had to tread softly.

\- My lady, I will not forget that I was born here. And I shall never lift hand nor word against you or the Summer Court. But you more than anyone can understand that sometimes, the ones we were meant to be with are not from our world.

 

The garden fell silent. Babet felt cold, a feeling that was rare in this summer wonderland. He had spoken with all the respect he could muster. His Queen was looking at him and her Consort was stone-still. Had he spoken in haste? Would they even listen to him now?

\- Your Majesties...

\- Babet. You take great liberties.

\- I am aware, my Queen. But my words are to the point, as you asked.

She rose and walked towards her Ambassador, her eyes unreadable. And when she spoke again, her voice was low.

\- What would you ask of me? Of your Queen? To work against the interests of my Court by waiting to seal a long-awaited pact? How much time would you ask? What will satisfy your once and future king?

\- My lady... I cannot say.

\- You cannot say. And yet you ask this of me.

\- I ask merely for your trust. Once what has to be done is done, there will be no longer any strife between our Courts. Our leader is no fool, he knows that things must change if we are to survive. And we may be few, we will prevail. I believe it.

\- You trust him.

\- I do, my lady. With my life.

 

Babet remained kneeling, his heart beating like a drum. He couldn't forget that no matter how terrifying the Winter King was, the Queen of Summer was just as powerful as he. With a single word she could banish him into the Between, and there was absolutely nothing he could possibly do to stop her. So he waited for the word to fall, but instead of sentencing him to death, the Queen bade him to rise.

\- Stay a while as my welcomed guest, Babet. I must think about what you have told me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry about the lack of updates. My Muse has basically given up, I'm having to bribe them with chocolate and alcohol.   
> Hope you enjoy <3

It was still hours before sunrise. In the quiet back-room of a tiny, shop, the three listened with baited breath at the news Bahorel was delivering them.

He'd come here, to this small street and this tiny shop, its crystals and tarot cards in the window and the invisible sigils on the walls, because these friends were the closest he had coming back from the park. He had the right words, he slipped past the wards, and straight into the bedroom. Of course he hadn't really thought about catching them doing anything he'd rather not have seen, but luckily they'd only been sleeping. He'd woken them from sleep, almost jumping onto their bed in his hurry, and it was only when Musichetta had brewed one of her famous blends that he had grown calm enough to speak.

And he had told them all he had learned, It wasn't much, admittedly, but it was enough to get him growling. His tone conveyed that he regretted not having ripped the two Fae into ribbons for just walking into lycan territory, but his tirade was cut short by a massive yawn. Which earned him a few laughs, and a light blanket thrown over his shoulders.

\- You're exhausted, shouldn't you be in bed?

\- This was too important to keep to myself. We need to gather the others, we need to warn them about what's going to happen. Those fucking pixies are going to trigger a war far greater than the others just by being here. All we've worked for, lycans, vampires and the Seelie Court is going to get fucked up! And –

\- And you're exhausted. Go home.

Musichetta tried to coax the heavy lycan out of the chair he'd fallen into, but she was only human and there was no way she could. She heard Joly move out of the sofa, the way his feet fell on the floorboards unmistakable.

\- My heart?

\- I'll find Feuilly. If he gets home and doesn't find Bahorel waiting for him, he's going to worry.

\- Do you need help?

It was Bossuet who had spoken, already standing up and holding out a hand, but Joly shook his head and took his coat from where it dangled from the hook.

\- No, I know where he hunts, I'll find him easily. I'll be right back.

He smiled, eyes blazing red in the darkness, and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

 

*

 

The help offered hadn't been about finding the other vampire, he knew it. They were both worried about him, no matter what they said. Joly should have found their pity infuriating but instead he was relieved and comforted that they were there. It was a cold world without love, and even more so when your own kind saw you with disdain. His leg wasn't his fault, something had gone wrong when he had been Made, but the coven had turned him out. It was only because Feuilly had noticed him one night and had dragged him to Musichetta's shop, as some sort of place to heal. One thing had led to another, and soon, the witch with eyes like the night sky had taken Joly into her bed. A few years later, Bossuet had stumbled back into her life, after having disappeared for two years. And it hadn't taken long for the three of them to share everything.

Even now Bossuet didn't speak of what had happened, and all that Joly knew was that it wasn't something that had happened in this mortal realm.

 

The wind screamed in his ears as he flew across the city, heading towards the docks at Gennevilliers; Feuilly hunted there, jealously keeping his small territory private, and the only other vampire he accepted was Joly. Probably because the other vampire only ever fed on both his partners.

It didn't take long to find Feuilly. The redhead was sitting on top of a large container, scanning the horizon at the ships coming in and out. Without a word, Joly flew up to join his friend, but as he landed, his leg gave out and he fell with a clatter. At one, Feuilly was next to him, pulling him up with a smile.

\- Here you go.

\- Ah...! Feuilly, sorry. I've disturbed you.

\- Don't worry about it. What's up?

\- Bahorel is with us. I came to make sure you wouldn't freak out if you went home and didn't find him.

Feuilly didn't even hide his smile. His friends didn't stop worrying about him, especially since he'd found himself playing happy families with a lycan. Extremists were everywhere in their two worlds.

\- Thank you for worrying. Let's go and get my idiot out of your home. Did he go and have a drinking game with Grantaire and Bossuet again?

\- No, he came with...news. He thinks the alliances are in danger.

\- Why the hell now?

\- Two Fae from the Unseelie Court came to Valjean a few hours ago. To talk.

\- The Winter Court's troubles are hardly our problem. They're freaking out because they'll soon be surrounded by all the others, that's all.

\- No, this is weird. But let's talk about it somewhere else.

 

They arrived back at the shop at daybreak, closing the door before the sun rose too high. Vampires didn't turn to dust under sunlight, but they still preferred the shadows.

Musichetta had already got another teapot warming up and the smell of chamomile and lavender filled up the small living-room. Bahorel had finally woken up, blinking against the lights, and soon had an armful of vampire, nuzzling his neck.

\- Hey Fee. Sorry if I worried you.

\- Joly said you had news? What the hell is going on?

\- Fucking pretty-boy pixies. Something stinks and trust the fucking Fae to be at the heart of it. They're trying to stop the alliances.

Bossuet came over to give everyone a cup of chamomile, before sitting down between Joly and Musichetta. He was a little more sombre than his usual cheerful countenance, but he tried valiantly to stay smiling.

\- Or not? We don't know what they came to say, it might be nothing. After all, if they're coming out of the woodwork, it might be to talk terms. No matter how insane their King might be, even he might see that things have to chance.

\- You're always so optimistic, I don't know how you do it.

\- Force of habit, Baz...

Bahorel gave his friend a nod and stretched. Perhaps he was right, this was just worrying for nothing. He wouldn't know anything more until Valjean gave the pack more news, anyway. So he stood up, still with Feuilly wrapped in his arms.

\- Sorry about walking you up for what might be absolutely nothing. 'Chetta, thanks for the tea.

\- My pleasure. And do give us the news as soon as you get any? It's better to be on our guard than dead.

\- With luck, we'll soon be able to sleep soundly. See you three love-birds soon!

*

 

\- Is the sun hurting your eyes?

\- I'm fine...

\- You sound tired, though. Did you have a good hunt?

Feuilly didn't answer, which was answer enough. So Bahorel pushed his boyfriend inside, sat him on the couch, and opened the fridge. The blood packs were neatly stacked at the back, for emergencies. And this counted as one.

\- You have to drink before you sleep, ok?

\- As if you'd ever give me the choice.

\- It would be easier if you could drink on me, but we know that doesn't work.

He handed Feuilly the pack and went to make coffee, knowing that no vampire enjoyed being watched as they fed. Feuilly wasn't an exception to this, as he tried to make the least noise possible. But at last the pack was empty and put in the bin, and soon they were both snuggled up in the bed. The vampire's breathing grew slower and soon he was deeply asleep, nestled against Bahorel's chest.

But Bahorel couldn't sleep, still on edge after what had happened. The alliances were essential to finally being at peace, to not having to patrol or be on edge each time the different worlds crossed paths. Lycans, vampires, fair folk...those three universes had been at each-other's throats for centuries, and once the deal would be done, they'd finally be able to breathe.

So he sent a quick text message to the rest of the small group of friends, warning them of the arrival of potential trouble. They wouldn't let this happen without fighting back.


	7. Chapter 7

The moon had hardly fallen under the spires of the Hall of Mirrors when the shadows shifted around the throne-room; the King had departed for some while now, but there was always the risk that he would return, and the most suicidal thing that could happen would be to get caught. Getting caught would mean more than just a fist in the face. Getting caught would mean exile in the best of cases, endless years of mind-numbing torture in any other case. Maybe death, maybe not. It had happened, it would happen again. All the Gentry knew the King had his...moods. 

And the last thing Montparnasse needed right now was getting caught in the King's moods. He'd taken one still-bleeding lip and one public humiliation too much. Now was the time for allies, and he forced the worries about his friends far, far deeply into his heart. They would be fine, he trusted them. They were out there doing their part for the plan, now he was doing his. 

 

The room was silent, bathed in silver moonlight and the flickering white candles around the throne. And still sitting on the cold floor in that overgrown shirt was the person he'd come to see. He was hardly surprised that the King would leave his pet here, it was a statement of his disdain for the human and a veiled challenge for anyone who would be stupid enough to attempt exactly what Montparnasse was going to attempt.

But he couldn't do anything else, and he knelt down by the small, silent shape.

\- Hello, mortal. 

No answer came, but he hadn't been expecting one. Not yet, at any rate. This alliance of sorts was a fool's hope, but like anything worthwhile, it would take time to sow the right seeds. So he knelt down next to the prone figure and smiled (it felt almost unnatural, but he would bear it as well as the rest).

\- They call me Montparnasse.

\- I know who you are. Go away.

Well, he couldn't really have expected him to greet another Fae with kisses and open arms... This was going to take time.

\- I am not here to hurt you. May I sit here?

\- Go away. I don't want anything to do with you.

\- You look cold.

The mortal didn't even bother answer and curled back onto himself, under his tunic. Montparnasse tried to think of another way to start the conversation, until he noticed that the pet was looking at him with intense eyes.

(Such beautiful eyes.)

(No, this wasn't the moment...)

\- What do you want, Montparnasse? Are you here to use and abuse me like the rest of your kind want to?

\- No. That's not why I'm here. I –

\- I don't want to know. Go away.

\- But you're talking to me.

\- Go away! Leave me alone! _LEAVE ME ALONE_!

 

Montparnasse jerked away from the mortal as if burnt. Even with tears streaming down his cheeks, hair in a mess and only a rough shirt to hide in, the king's pet was formidable. Enough to make a Knight of the Winter Court react in such a way. And anger flared up like a frozen wave.

\- Watch your tone with me, mortal.

\- Why?! Why should I?! What could you possibly do to me that hasn't already been done?! My life, my time, my heart – everything was stolen from me and ripped to shreds by your King's hands! By the hands of his friends! Why should I watch my tone with you, Montparnasse?!

\- Because I am not him!

\- You're a cruel bastard! _Exactly_ like him!

The slap went out so fast, and was so unexpected, that Montparnasse didn't even try to avoid it. He just knelt there, his hand on his cheek, blood pearling (again) at the corners of his mouth. Silence fell like a condemnation, silence so thick it could have been cut with a knife. And even if the mortal seemed shaken by his gesture, he didn't say anything, he didn't move, he simply sat there.

And finally he whispered.

\- Go away. Leave me alone. Please.

\- I don' wish to hurt you. You have my word.

\- As if it meant anything...

\- It does.

\- As if I could trust you...

Montparnasse hesitated just a second – he _never_ hesitated – and the mortal gave a sour smile, sitting up against the icy throne.

\- I can't trust you. I won't ever be tricked again, Montparnasse. I will never trust another Fae in my life, never. You can't lie, but you can cheat, manipulate... You use words to get what you want, so all the words I hear from you will be exactly like his. So you're going to have to do better than words if you want the beginning of my trust.

Montparnasse nodded and was about to rise, but before that – before that – he reached out and brushed the mortal's hand just an instant, just enough to calm the pain that was still coursing though it; a slight widening of those beautiful eyes was the only reaction he gathered, but it was enough. Something had begun.

\- Ask of me what you will. I am not your enemy, and I hope you will see that one day.

 

As quietly as he had come, the ice-fae got up and slipped out of the throne-room, leaving those beautiful eyes behind him. Claquesous had been right, he could feel every single part of him desiring every part of the beautiful mortal chained to the King's throne.

This wasn't the time. He would misstep if he let himself loose the slightest part of the controlled façade he had taken an eternity to shape. He would do as he had planned: slowly, discreetly, in the shadows.

 

\- Jehan.

 

Montparnasse tensed at that voice. It was hesitant, veiled with hate and worry and tentative hope, and when he turned, the King's pet was standing with his arms crossed, not shying away from looking straight at Montparnasse.

\- Jehan.

\- Sorry...?

\- I'll allow you to call me Jehan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's short, I need sleep and coffee.   
> But at last, the plot begins! :)


	8. Chapter 8

Daybreak came over the land, flooding the Seelie Court with warmth and light. Everywhere the sun touched, flowers blossomed, birdsong and laughter filled the air. The Fae walked in their world of green and gold, and all was well.

In his guest quarters in the innermost part of the Golden Hall, Babet wasn't sleeping. He hadn't been sleeping well for days. The Queen hadn't called for him yet, not one of the Gentry had even tried to speak to him since his arrival, and he was worried about the others. No word had come from them, he had no idea how they were doing. He wasn't even sure who he was more worried about. Montparnasse had always been able to take care of himself, but he was alone in the Winter Court with the King just waiting for an excuse to kill him – or worse. Claquesous and Gueulemer were together at least, but that was hardly a reassuring thought because Claquesous could sometimes be worse than Montparnasse when he was angry.

But he had hope. If a high-ranking Fae had been causing trouble in any realm, word would have come to where he was. And considering his known association with the three of them, he would certainly have been summoned. But nothing had come. Days had passed and still his Queen had said nothing.

 

Babet gave a sigh and rolled out from the perfectly comfortable bed, shying away from the bright sunlight. He might have been from this Court originally, but his eyes and his skin had grown accustomed to the softer moonlight and the cold glare of the snow and ice. At least the food was essentially the same here...

He walked out into the corridor and into the one of the small rooms where long tables full of sparkling plates waited eternally for the Fair Folk to flutter in and take tiny morsels, before fluttering back out again. There was no-one there for the moment, so Babet went straight to one of the tall pitchers of honey-wine, draining it in one go.

He was bored. Bored and worried. And that was hardly a good combination, it had cost him a few times in the past. And here, he didn't have his marks any more; he might still be considered by the Queen to be her Ambassador, for the others he was nothing more than a traitor that had deserted them.

And as if his mind was playing tricks on him, a crystalline giggle came from behind him. When he turned, it was to see two nearly-familiar faces in sheer dresses and full glamour. He couldn't place names on them, but then again, he didn't plan on staying long enough to start remembering people again.

\- Can I help you, my ladies?

\- We thought we recognised you. Babet, our lost child.

\- Hardly lost, my lady. Merely not where I was meant to be.

\- The Winter Court is hardly a place for us to be, that is true. But now that you're back, things might just be a little more...interesting.

 

She laughed again – Floral – Bouquet – whatever her pretentious flower-related name was, and Babet could feel his teeth ache. He'd not tasted Fae blood in aeons of time, not since the last war between the Courts, but his patience was growing very thin. Still, appearances had to be maintained, and a death in the heart of the Golden Hall would hardly help his cause.

\- Interesting, really. In what way, my lady?

\- We have heard much of the Unseelie Court, but it remains rumour and half-truth. You have become almost one of theirs, so tell us of the whims and customs they have. Is it true that their King keeps his own kith and kin captive? That one of them is kept at the throne with an iron chain. Is that true?

Babet tried to stay calm. So it was to be like this, was it? They hadn't waited long before trying to push his buttons.

\- That was very long ago, and the Fae in question is no longer captive.

\- No, he became a Knight, as I recall. Maybe you know him?

\- I know a lot of people, lady.

\- Yes, but what about him?

His teeth were aching again, and he idly wondered how her friend would react if he tore a gaping hole in her neck. Probably not well. But the jolts coming from his mouth were less painful than listening to a Faery not even trying to be subtle. Montparnasse would have already just given a glare and stalked out, but Babet lacked the coldness of the ice Knight.

She was still talking, looking at him with a cruel half-smile, daring him to attempt to lie and say that he had no idea that one of his closest friends had been hardly better than a slave. So he didn't. What did it matter anyway?

\- I know him. And you will too, soon enough. Forgive me, ladies.

 

*

 

The day just continued as it had started, and Babet didn't move from the shady spot he'd found under a weeping willow near a giggling river, trying to stop the cheerfulness from driving him mad. At least here they would stop looking at him like some sort of wild animal, just because he'd left them, just because he'd found himself in Winter, just because he'd stripped away part of his own glamour like a rotten veil. Here no-one had found him yet, here he was alone with his thoughts.

Until the branches parted of their own accord, and the Consort – Marius – walked through them, and held out his hand.

\- Come. We must talk, you and I.


	9. Chapter 9

Morning was also dawning over Paris, lighting up the suburbs of the Marais quarter, one of the chic areas. It was a lazy morning, a Saturday morning where there were no rush to be anywhere or do anything. It was a morning where even the usual chaos of the tourists rushing around everywhere couldn't rouse the two sleeping shapes under the light blanket.

A loud laugh right next to the open bedroom window did what the rest didn't, and a groan answered, a voice coloured by cigarettes and sleep.

\- F'fuck's sake..

The other shape hadn't woken up yet, so R staggered out of bed. It was only a few minutes before 10am, they'd slept the required time for full body rest, but damn if he hadn't wanted a few more hours. Summer always made him drowsy after all... But there was always a way to fight it, and he went straight to the coffee. Since he'd discovered coffee, he couldn't go without, and this was probably one of the best he'd tasted. Humming softly he prepared a tall cup, piping hot, and sat at the open kitchen window, staring down at the people walking by. They were all different and yet all the same. People were absolutely fascinating...

A pair of arms snaked around him, sudden heat against his bare back, and R smiled as he tilted his head back to rest against the other man's chest.

\- Up already, sunshine?

\- I smelt the coffee... Are you really drinking that instant stuff again?

\- I can't get enough, apparently...

R smiled and held out the cup.

\- Shall I make you some?

\- Please...

Enjolras was at his cutest when he was just woken up, nothing would change R's mind about that. And when Enjolras was cute, there was only one thing that R wanted to do.

\- I will, on one condition.

\- Really? And what might that be?

 

A few whispered words, a little nod, and R grabbed Enjolras by the waist and hoisted him up on the counter. This earned him a kiss, the lightest brush against his lips, and then he was grabbing onto his boyfriend's boxers and easing them slowly down. Their mouths were hungry and with each kiss, R felt Enjolras tense up against him. It was really too easy by now, but he would never tire of it.

He would never tire of him.

And then Enjolras gave a shuddering moan, the sparks already starting to fly from his fingertips, prompting R to smile even more. The beauty of dating a magician...

\- You're so sensitive when you're hardly awake, I love it... I love you...

\- Then show me, R...

\- You bet I will... Ready?

He hardly needed an answer other the bulge in his boyfriend's boxers and with a satisfied smile, he quite simply took Enjolras into his mouth, keeping him steady with one hand. His other hand was stuck between his own legs, stroking himself to the rhythm of the throaty cries surrounding him. He could feel long strands of hair tickling his neck, the slight forgettable pain from fingernails being dug into the skin of his arm, and of course, the unmistakable tingle of magic, making him break out in goosebumps.

 

Enjolras had never been able to be quiet, in no circumstance whatsoever; R was certain that with a little effort, every single one of the people in the busy street could hear his moans. And it was such a fucking turn-on.

 

R kept going, not giving Enjolras a single second of respite and not stopping for an instant, taking him deeper and deeper. He knew exactly where to slide his tongue, where to gently graze with his teeth and where to press with his free hand, he was a perfect student and had mastered the art of making Enjolras come over and over again. He was close, he could feel him bucking his hips and moaning louder, hands gripping his arms harder, until the air crackled with both their releases, the magical and the perfectly mundane.

This time there was no way no-one had heard them and as soon as he could, R looked up, licking his lips with a steamy smile. Enjolras couldn't speak – not yet – and simply held himself against R, breathing heavily. The air calmed, the sparks disappeared slowly, and Enjolras finally sat upright, his cheeks pink and perfect.

\- ...Coffee, please...?

\- Oh, I don't know. Are you sure you couldn't go for round two?

That earned him a swat and he grinned.

\- Ok, ok, after the coffee then...

 

But there was no round two; once the coffee had been made and R had run down to the closest bakery to get a nice fresh baguette, neither really had any intention of doing anything except reading in comfortable silence on their sofa. It was quiet, it was peaceful. Just them in their small flat, surrounded by R's paintings and the jars and vials and ingredients that Enjolras used daily in his role as Hierophant of Paris.

It was quiet. Until Enjolras heard his phone bip, and stretched out like a cat.

\- We have to go and see Combeferre.

\- What, now?

\- He says it's urgent, that Bahorel has news. Why couldn't Bahorel tell me himself?

\- Probably because everyone's figured that you're less annoyed if 'Ferre's the one who interrupts you riding me...

Enjolras bit back a reply, and simply sighed. R could be so abrupt in his answers, it was little wonder that he had taken so many hits in his life. But Enjolras couldn't be more in love with the broken-nosed, unruly-haired, grinning painter he'd met one spring morning. Even if he could be the most irritating, sarcastic and provocative person he'd ever met.

\- Always so direct...

\- That's who I am, and that's why you love me. So? Are you going to move your magical arse into the shower, or do I have to drag you there?

\- Move it, Rembrandt.

 

*

 

An hour later and they both arrived on the street, threading their way through the people going to and fro and heading for the metro. It wasn't that Enjolras didn't have money (he was from a fairly rich family on top of being a magician) but everyone knew that a car in Paris was madness. And besides, taking the suburban would mean twenty minutes before arriving at Combeferre's flat near the Montsouris park: by car, with the traffic, the lights and the general chaos of tourists on a sunday noon, they could spend up to an hour... And R had got horrible nausea the first (and only) time Enjolras had opened a portal to get from their flat to St Germain, so that was also out of the question.

Half an hour later, both men arrived near the Montsouris park and to no great surprise, they spotted a familiar face sitting on a bench just in front of Combeferre's apartment building. It wasn't Combeferre by any stretch, but to deny Courfeyrac a single moment of his friend's company would be catastrophic. And it was only by knowing what he was that no-one bat an eyelid when he turned to greet them.

\- Aaaah, you're here as well! How are my favourite love-birds?

\- Still very much in love, thank you. And how's everyone's favourite drama-queen dhampyr?

R grinned at the way Courfeyrac's eyes lit up a dark crimson, then fist-bumped him.

\- Come on, let's go get 'Ferre before he wonders where we are.

\- He knows. He's coming out of his flat, he'll be here in a few moments.

\- Seriously, telepathy is an amazing gift, I'd love to be able to do that... Imagine all the fun I'd have with it...

Courfeyrac gave a dazzling smile, revealing teeth that were perhaps just a little too sharp to be entirely humain.

\- Knowing you, you'd spend your time sending sexy thoughts to Enjolras, and then what would he do?

 

R's answer was cut short by Combeferre walking out of the building, seeing them, and walking right over. And if Courfeyrac's eyes could shine brighter as he held up his hand, they probably would.

\- We're all here, what's the news?

\- Let's go for a walk? The others are going to be here soon, and I thought the park would be the best place for us to not be overheard. You never know.


	10. Chapter 10

Everyone was there in the sunny Montsouris Park, looking exactly like a group of friends hanging out. Even Joly and Feuilly had ventured into the sunlight, in long-sleeved tops and dark glasses, and very high-SPF sunscreen. Bahorel had jokingly compared them to a couple of goth kids being forced to enjoy the fresh air outside, but Feuilly's almost inaudible growl had quickly put an end to that. Vampires couldn't stay in the daylight very long, and neither would have come out if the situation hadn't been so strange.

Enjolras greeted them all, in his role as Hierophant but especially as a friend, and was always amazed at how diverse a group they were, and how they'd found each-other. The two vampires who were no longer welcome in their nests, Musichetta and Combeferre – the two humans who dabbled in the higher spheres of the occult and could no longer forget, Bahorel – their link to the lycan world and who had often stood up to his clan for his beliefs, Courfeyrac who was an outcast in his own way, and Bossuet and R, the only two “normal” people present, and who had somehow managed to get sucked into weird and wonderful inter-world politics.

But before any discussion of said politics, Courfeyrac disappeared for a quick second and came back, balancing far too many cups of coffee in his hands.

\- I didn't bother asking for sugar or whatever, just pick any and lets talk.

\- Courf, this coffee would be disgusting even with sugar.

\- Yes, it would. So don't complain, R.

 

The group moved towards a shady bench under the trees, the tension barely hidden under coffee-related conversations and eternal light-hearted bickering, and finally Courfeyrac sat up straighter, usual insatiable curiosity in his eyes.

\- Right. What's the news, Bahorel?

\- The Winter Court is moving. Two pixies came into our territory and Valjean met with them. I don't know anything else, but it stinks. They're coming to fuck up the Accords, it's obvious.

\- The Winter Court is seriously running out of options at the moment, they're probably trying to find allies where they can.

\- They're desperate, they have to know that the Winter Court is going to end up isolated.

\- They could be renegades?

\- As if they'd find protection here!

They were all speaking together, one on top of the other, and Enjolras tried to get them to calm down. But he didn't have the opportunity, as a shadow came to stand right in front of them. No-one had heard or seen the man, all too engrossed in their animated discussion, and they only stopped when the sword-cane came knocking on the bench.

\- Maybe you should speak louder, I don't think they heard you in Saint-Germain...

\- For fuck's sake!

\- Bahorel, language.

 

The group instantly quieted down, even if Javert noticed the two vampires coming closer from out of the shade. He knew who they were, of course, and that it wasn't personal, but he was close to their chosen mates, and vampires were horribly territorial and possessive. Sometimes worse than lycanthropes...

Sitting down on the bench, between Enjolras and Combeferre, Javert gave a curt sigh.

\- You know the news then.

\- Bahorel was just telling us when you arrived.

\- The news would have been announced at the next Council. The Guardians will know what to do.

At that, Courfeyrac gave a snort.

\- You mean that bunch of old bastards who sit around and don't do anything except talk and drink wine?

\- Please, now is not the time.

\- Now is always the time.

Combeferre simply squeezed the dhampyr's shoulder with a small smile, and at once Courfeyrac relaxed just a bit. The Council was always a prickly subject in the best of times, and for some of the otherworldly inhabitants – like the outcasts – it was just anathema. But still, Javert continued, unfazed.

\- They will be informed, and the Guardians will know what to do in the situation. I understand your concerns, Courfeyrac, but you can't change the world by shouting at it and waving flags. Enjolras, I'm counting on you to not let this filter through. We don't want a panic on our hands, and the fact that you all are aware of this isn't something I would have like.

Enjolras' gaze lingered on his assembled friends and he gave a tight smile.

\- Our worlds have a right to know, Javert. We can't just keep it a secret.

\- Yes we can, and I'm telling you this right now : two Fae are not a rebellion. Four Fae are not an army. If you start riling people up, scaring them for nothing, the Council will take notice. And it won't be pleasant.

 

From behind came a growl that made Javert's skin crawl. Feuilly had come closer without him noticing, and was just behind him, fangs bared.

\- Are you threatening us?

Javert had to concentrate to stay calm. He was used to lycans and their violence, but vampires were a totally different case, and he only relaxed when Joly pushed Feuilly back towards the shade of the trees.

\- It's not a threat Feuilly, it's a matter of fact. I can't be more serious than I am on the subject. And if the Council starts looking towards you and your group, what do you think they'll find? The Hierophant of Paris in the middle of a budding social revolution, and worse.

 

Musichetta hadn't spoken yet. She had stayed quiet, Bossuet and Joly on either side of her but she straightened up, the crystals around her neck and her wrists tinkling like the bells in her hair.

\- Worse? What do you mean by “worse”, monsieur Javert? Could it be that they're so unaccepting of differences that we'd all be a threat?

\- Surely you aren't blind. You live in this world, you know how it works. And yes, the Council is unaccepting of much. They haven't changed in hundreds of years, why would it be different now? All they seek is stability, and all that threatens stability must be destroyed.

\- I am not stupid, I assure you. I know how it works.

\- So count for yourself how many threats the Guardians would see here.

The witch gave a sigh. Javert was right, of course he was. And looking at Enjolras, she could see that he agreed, no matter what his heart was screaming. Dhampyrs were considered cursed and were still killed on sight. The relationship between Feuilly and Bahorel was the cause of tension in their own communities, tension that the Council would want calmed at all costs. And especially since the vampires were allies to the humans, and the werewolves hadn't decided. Enjolras himself was a problem, an idealistic magician in a place of authority and power wasn't useful to them at all. He asked too many questions.

Like right now.

 

\- Javert, you spoke of four Fae. Did you see them? Do you know who they were?

\- No, I've never seen them before. But they were high-ranking, one of them a Knight. His name was Claquesous, I believe. Does that speak to you?

 

No-one seemed to notice the way R's eyes widened.


	11. Chapter 11

The sky was full of silver snowflakes and the Gentry danced around the large fires. It hadn't been planned, their King had simply decided to stage a Hunt to celebrate the full moon. All the Fae were invited, even if not one of them would have dreamed of refusing such a beautiful night: their horses were covered in silver bells and blue and white ribbons, the fires grew higher, and when the horn sounded, the very earth of Faerie shuddered as they raced away.

Nights like this, when the Hunt sounded, the Fae listened even more closely to the wild side of themselves.

 

There wasn't a sound in the palace. All had followed their King, from the lowest servants to the highest members of the Winter Court. The throne-room was empty and silent, there wasn't a breath anywhere. Anywhere except the King's private rooms.

Behind the solid alabaster doors, lying in the pearl-white sheets, Jehan was staring up. He knew the details of the entire room by now, and he could trace the carvings of the ceiling with his eyes closed. He was cold. He was always cold here, and he couldn't warm up. The King's ministrations

(if only that was the right word)

only made him colder.

But the King was gone. The Hunt had been called, so Jehan knew he'd be alone for a day. A week. Maybe more. And he couldn't leave this room until the King came back. So he would wait and sleep and maybe the next time wouldn't be rough.

 

A slight scratching in the walls roused him up and as he looked around, a part of the silvery shimmer in front of him melted away, and the familiar form of Montparnasse came into view. At once, Jehan sat up and clutched the bedsheets.

\- Get out!

\- I won't do anything to you, I promise.

\- I don't believe you. Get out!

But instead of obeying, Montparnasse closed the wall with a flicker of a finger and placed a tray on the bed.

\- The Hunt will take a while. You should eat.

\- I don't want anything you give me. I don't even know why you're here. Leave.

\- I can hear your stomach growling from here. When did you last eat?

\- Montparnasse, get out.

But it was getting hard to ignore the fruit and the meat on the platter. The lore warned of eating anything while in the Faery realm, but Jehan was already here, already chained and with no hope of escape, so why resist? And almost as though the Knight could read minds, Montparnasse spoke again.

\- You're already here. A bite of apple won't make anything worse.

\- ...Why?

\- I'm sorry?

\- Why are you doing this? What do you want? Is this your way of trying to seduce me?

\- Which question would you like me to answer first?

\- I'm serious! Tell me!

As he shouted he realised that after all this time, only one person had managed to make him feel anything again, even if it was anger and frustration. And the Fae was still and silent at the end of the bed, nothing given away in his stormy eyes. And something was eating away at the back of his mind, the same wicked curiosity that had sentenced him to this life.

\- How did you get in?

\- Through the wall. You saw it.

\- How did you know how? He – the King – said that no-one except him could enter these rooms. So how did you do it?

\- I know how to get it because I know this room.

 

The conversation wasn't the most pleasant one, but it was better than none. Perhaps speaking of the past would help open up towards something more. Time was of the essence, and besides, after this was over, Jehan would be of no importance whatsoever. He could get rid of the mortal straight after, or throw him into Babet's lair.

\- I know this room because I used to be where you are. And I had the time to discover certain passages. I'm sure the King knows them too, but he never knew I did.

\- You...were here?

\- In your very place. And with that very chain around my neck when I knelt at the sides of the throne.

Jehan didn't say anything, playing with the apple in his hand. He had no sympathy for the ice-fae, none at all. And yet...

And yet.

\- Are you telling me the truth?

\- Yes. I am. I could tell you everything that happened here. I could tell you about his hands, about his teeth... I could tell you what he prefers or how he punishes afterwards. I could -

\- Don't....! Don't tell me. I know all that. And I don't care.

\- Neither do I.

 

Damn.

Damn, he'd been distracted. The pain started up without hesitation, the blood pearling at the sides of his mouth. Without thinking he grabbed the first thing he could and hid his mouth, trying to get the bleeding under control, all the time very conscious of Jehan looking at him, the apple in his hand cleanly forgotten.

He wanted to say – to say anything, but Jehan simply sat back, those beautiful mismatched eyes boring into his very soul.

\- You hate him. I should have guessed you hate him. The first time I saw you, at the ball, I thought I saw death in your eyes. And I was right, you're trying to kill him, aren't you?

Montparnasse finally finished wiping off the blood from his mouth and nodded, the cloth in his hands.

\- I intend to.

\- You want to be king.

\- Yes. I want to secure a future for us, and I can't do that while he decides. So he has to die. And I need your help.

Well, the words were spoken at last. They'd taken far less time to come than he'd imagined, but once out, they wouldn't hide back inside. And Jehan just looked at him in disbelief, moving away until he sat against the headboard.

\- My help? You want my help?

\- Yes.

\- That's why you want me to trust you. So I can be a pawn in this...this _game_ you're playing?

\- You think it's a game? I wouldn't ask for your help if I didn't need it!

\- I don't care! I thought you might...you might be different from the others, but you don't care. You don't care!

\- Jehan, calm down.

\- Get out! I was going to trust you! _Get out_!

With a muffled cry, Jehan took the apple he was holding and threw it with all his strength; it barely missed the Knight's head and exploded against the wall. Montparnasse didn't show the slightest reaction, but his eyes seemed to darken as he opened the secret passage behind him.

\- At least eat what I've brought you. And hide the tray.

\- _Fuck you_!

 

The wall closed, the Faerie Knight disappeared, and Jehan remained alone in the cold, white room, buried under the cold, white sheets, burning hot tears on his cheeks.


End file.
